


Fierce as a Wolf, Stubborn as a Bull

by aurorasparrow (moonofmylife88)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonofmylife88/pseuds/aurorasparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My variation of Arya and Gendry's trip North toward the Wall. Begins closely following the book and show but will divert especially the further into the story we get. Arya is older in this than she is in either the book or show. Focuses on the slow development of their friendship and eventual romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Friend

A/N: Just my variation of Arya and Gendry's trip towards the North. Won't follow the storyline exactly, just closely, though in this, I'm making Arya a bit older than she is in the book/show, just to make the romantic aspect of it a bit more palatable for us. Reviews/critiques welcome, especially if anyone feels I'm doing a dishonor to the characters by making them too-something-they're-not. I'm going off both the book and the show, taking only the lines I like to keep the story going in a similar direction, but as you'll see in this and future chapters, I'll be making plenty of my own changes. Just wanted more Arya/Gendry, especially more protective Gendry, even if Arya doesn't like it. I own nothing related to Game of Thrones, least of all these characters, though I wish I had the power to make them bring Gendry back on the show. Thanks in advance for reading, hopefully appreciating and reviewing if it please you!

  
*****

  
Arya could still hear the ringing of the sword as it sliced down through the air to claim the last of her childhood. The heavy clang of her father’s sword, Ice, as it hit the steps of the Sept of Baelor. The sword her father had used to dispense justice in the North, by his own hand. Joffrey had refused to even allow her father that last small sliver of honor, to die at the hand of he who had passed the sentence.

King’s Landing passed before her in a blur, as she was dragged roughly by the forearm down its dizzying corridors.

“You're Arry now, hear me? Arry the orphan boy. No one asks an orphan too many questions, ‘cause nobody gives three shits.” The man practically growled at her.

Arya’s heart constricted. In the back of her mind, she understood what the man - Yoren, she remembered, but it was her father’s voice she heard saying it - was telling her and why. But…she wasn’t an orphan, was she? Her mother was waiting for her back home in Winterfell. In the last ten minutes, the entire world had gone to hell, and she didn’t know if she could be sure of anything anymore.

“What's your name?”

“Arry.” She replied automatically. She hadn’t fully digested his words, but she’d listened long enough to follow directions. Her mind was racing. She imagined this might be what being drunk felt like, but she couldn’t really know for sure. Her father and brothers had allowed Arya small tastes of their beer or mead, but she’d never had enough to drink so as to become drunk. Her brothers had made sure of that. Her brothers.

“You've a long way to travel, and in bad company,” Yoren barked. “l've 20 this time - men and boys - all bound for the Wall. Your lord father gave me the pick of the dungeons, and l didn't find no little lordlings down there.”

Her lord father. The Wall. The Black. This man had taken the black. Like Uncle Benjen. Like Jon. Was she going to go see Jon? Her heart rose but dropped the next second. But no, what about Sansa? What about Mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon? What would the King do next? A thousand and one questions, the only answer the cold singing of Ice as it fell through the air. Over and over again, she heard that sound in her mind, as if everyone in the square had all let out their breaths at once. Indeed, she’d never forget that sound.

“This lot - half of them would turn you over to the king quick as spit for a pardon. And the other half would do the same, except they'd rape you first. So keep to yourself - and when you piss, do it in the woods alone.”

Yoren’s words reached her ears, but she heard them through a distant roaring, almost like waves crashing violently against a dark, deserted beach. She could hear her heartbeat as well, the fast incessant pounding. How could any of this be real?

“You stay with this lot, boy. And stay, or l’ll lock you in the back of the wagon with these three.” Yoren finally released his tight grip on her shoulder.

Her glazed eyes roamed over the wagon, but she barely took notice of the rough-looking men inside whose prying eyes she felt on her regardless. The hooded figure in particular. She felt the gaze of whatever was under the cloak. She wasn’t scared. _She was a wolf._

Yoren’s release had set Arya off balance and she bumped clumsily into a huge lump of a boy.

“Watch yourself, midget!” the boy bellowed at her.

Arya was pulled from her stupor by the outburst. She wasn’t frightened. She wasn’t scared of anything, she told herself. _She was a wolf._ She reminded herself again lest she forget. But she was wary.

“He’s got a sword, this one.” Another stupid boy spoke from beside the fat one. He soon came to circle behind Arya, so she was surrounded, fat boy in front of her, stupid boy in back.

The fat one’s eyes bulged when he lay eyes upon Needle. “What's a gutter rat like you doing with a sword?”

“Maybe he’s a little squire.”

“He ain’t no squire,” the fat one said, rolling his eyes at the other. “Look at him. He looks like a girl. l bet he stole that sword.”

“Let's have a look.” The stupid one lunged towards her from behind, reaching for Needle. Arya danced fluidly backward out of his way, but only ended up closer to the fat one.

The fat boy’s chubby hand met her shoulder and pushed her down to the ground forcefully. She had no time to sidestep him, and the boy was too heavy for her to fight the force of his weight against hers. She fell to her side but rolled swiftly onto her back, keeping her eyes trained on both idiot boys. “l could use me a sword like that.” The fat boy continued.

“Leave him alone.” The boy with the ink black hair standing at the wagon near them was watching the encounter with a scowl. She could tell immediately from his accent that he was from King’s Landing. The boys were too intent on Arya to take notice. Considering how the boy would have towered over both of them, his muscles greater than theirs to boot, neither would have dared ignore him. If they’d heard. Arya _had_ heard. But she didn’t care. She didn’t need another useless boy’s help.

“Well, take it off ‘im.” The stupid boy said with a stupid smile, as they stared down at her in what they must have supposed to be a menacing manner.

Arya watched them both with cunning eyes, forming a plan in her head.

“Give it ‘ere, midget.” The fat boy exclaimed.

“Look at ‘im.” The stupid boy sneered. Arya began raising herself off the ground, though her slight movements were imperceptible to the boys. “You'd better give Hot Pie the sword. I've seen him kick a boy to death.” Her small hand went to Needle’s hilt, but the boys were both too stupid and busy boasting to notice.

“l knocked him down and l kicked him in the balls and l kept kicking him until he was dead. l kicked him all to pieces.” Arya would have rolled her eyes, if she wasn’t focusing so intently on beating both of these boys half to death. She was sitting all the way up now, and Needle was partway out of her belt. “You better give me that sword!” The fat boy exclaimed in what he must have supposed to have been a ferocious voice. He lunged toward her, the victory of stealing her sword shining in his eyes.

Suddenly, unsheathing Needle swiftly, Arya lunged at the fat boy. “You want it? I’ll give it to you.” She hit him over and over again hard enough to hurt him but not hard enough to cut him. All the while she spoke, a hit from the blade across his skin to emphasize each word. “l already killed one fat boy. l bet you never killed anyone. l bet you're a liar. But I'm not. I'm good at killing fat boys. l like killing fat boys.” The boy cried out as she did so, holding his nose and side simultaneously when she finally stopped, nursing what could only be blooming bruises.

So swiftly neither boy could keep track of her, Arya danced around to face the retreating boy and caught him under the backs of his legs, causing him to stumble head first. She brought the blade down across the stupid boy’s back side.

“Behind you.” The black-haired boy warned her.

Without missing a step, Arya twirled on her toes. The fat boy had picked up a stone and was lobbing it at her. But the boy with the warning had been quicker. The stone exploded into a multitude of shards, as he swung his hammer with great strength so swiftly, it was a blur even in Arya’s eyes.

The boy with the hammer approached the fat one menacingly. “Like picking on the little ones, do you? I've been hammering an anvil these past 10 years. When l hit that steel, it sings. Are you gonna sing when l hit you?” He raised his hammer over the fat boy’s head in warning. The fat boy only whimpered.

Arya actually growled. “I can handle this myself.” She sprang around the boy with the hammer, trying to knock him out of her way so she could get at the fat boy again with her sword for not learning his lesson the first time. The hammer boy didn’t budge, and it almost hurt to hit his shoulder with hers, but she paid him no more mind anyway.

She caught the fat boy again on both hands, this time drawing blood. The fat boy tried to run, terrified now. He tripped over his own feet and landed heavily on the dirty floor of the courtyard. He tried to crawl away, all the while whimpering and shouting from her whips of Needle across his sorry lump of a backside, tearing long strips of holes in his pants and drawing some blood. Arya kept at him, anger taking over as the predominant force of her sword hand.

Arya was suddenly yanked backwards, roughly.

“Enough!” came the coarse voice. Incensed, she looked up into Yoren’s face. While he looked angry at her, she could also discern the hint of humor and disbelief in his eyes. “You want to kill the boy?!” He continued speaking, or she would have answered him in the affirmative. “Anymore o’ this, I'll tie you lot behind the wagons and drag you to the Wall!” He bellowed at them all. “And that goes twice for you, boy!” He yelled at her.

Arya wasn’t sorry. _She was a wolf._ She’d been attacked. And she showed those stupid enough not to realize that she was a wolf why they’d never attack her again.

The fat boy was still whimpering in pain, holding one hand to his backside as he used the wall to the side of him to pull himself to his feet.

Meanwhile, Yoren tossed her around so she was facing away from him and roughly bent her against his knee. Sword in hand, flat side facing Arya, he began to bring it down on her own behind to show the other boys and men joining the Night’s Watch what they could expect for their feral behavior. Arya supposed Yoren was also punishing her for getting into trouble immediately after he’d left her alone. She didn’t care. She would have shrugged if her body wasn’t tensed up awaiting the hit.

Most of the boys around them cowered at Yoren’s temper. The tall, black-haired boy, however, took several steps toward her and Yoren and spoke before Yoren could bring the flat of his blade against Arya’s behind. “It weren’t ‘im that started it.” The boy stated in a clear, loud, almost authoritative voice. “He was only defendin’ himself from these two idiots.”

Yoren froze, the sword having traveled halfway toward its target. He turned to glare at the boy. The boy did not break his gaze with Yoren. Finally, Yoren looked down at Arya. “That true boy?”

Arya turned around and glared up at Yoren. “Aye. And if they do it again, they’ll get it three times as bad!” She spit in the fat boy’s direction, and he stumbled backwards, a look of terror on his face, one hand still caressing his sore backside.

Yoren blinked down at the girl, then burst out laughing. Arya could see the black-haired boy, too, steps away from them, had broken out into a grin at her words. “You’ll do no such thing, boy.” Yoren warned her. “Or you’ll be subject to the beating that boy,” he gestured at the ink-haired boy, “just saved ya from.” Yoren let her stand up straight.

Arya glared at the black-haired boy, who was staring at her almost as if willing her to keep quiet, then glared up at Yoren. “I don’t need saving.” She said coldly.

“That you don’t.” Yoren muttered. He glanced around as the crowd whose attention they’d had began to disperse. He dragged Arya yards away from the rest of them and crouched down so they were face to face.

“You got that pie boy good and bloody. It wasn't him as killed your father, girl, nor that thieving Lommy neither. Hitting them won't bring him back.”

Arya felt like she’d been slapped in the face. She wished Yoren had beat her instead of this. “I know,” she murmured anyway, hoping the man of the Night’s Watch had little more left to say to her.

Yoren watched her carefully, studying her sullen face. “Your father was meant to be here.” He finally said. “Only reason I were there. What jest happened weren’t meant ta.”

“Joffrey,” Arya breathed. “Someone should kill him,” she growled.

"Someone will, but it won't be me, nor you neither." Yoren handed her back Needle, which he’d taken in the confusion. He eyed her carefully one last time, then stood straight and turned suddenly toward the wagon where all of this had begun.

Loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear, he called out. “You boy!” The boy with the black hair had gone back to polishing the steel helmet he had in hand, that had the likeness of an animal, though Arya couldn’t tell which one just yet. “You keep watch on this one then, if you was so worried he couldn’ take a beatin! Anythin’ happens to ‘im, it’s twice that against you next."

The boy had the audacity to look surprised.

Yoren shoved Arya toward the wagon and the boy. Arya glared ahead at the boy who was looking curiously toward her and Yoren. “I don’t need protecting.” She spat back at Yoren who only gave her a hard look before stalking off.

Nonetheless, as the rest of the younger boys were glaring her way, it seemed the blacked-hair boy might be her only friend, Yoren aside. He was, after all, the only one who’d tried to help her, the only one who’d even warned stupid Hot Pie and Lommy to leave her alone in the first place. The boy had gone back to polishing his helm, but he glanced at her as she neared wiping the trace remains of Hot Pie’s blood off her sword onto the pant of her leg.

With pleasure, Arya saw Hot Pie and Lommy cowering across the courtyard. Hot Pie flinched when she glared his way. Both boys looked away in fear.

“I don’t need protecting.” Arya told the black-haired boy bitterly as she finished her approach to the wagon. She noted the boy had tucked the hammer back into his belt.

He grinned sheepishly at her, ignoring the harshness of her tone. “I know you don’t. But I don’t like bullies.”

Arya accepted that well enough as she tucked Needle back into her belt.

“That’s castle-forged steel. Where’d you steal it?” He nodded at her sword.

Anger flared up in her again. “I didn’t steal it. It was a gift.” Her thoughts roamed to her brother. Jon’s face floated through her mind and was soon replaced by that of her father. In the uproar of the moment, she’d nearly forgotten. The anger drained out of her as quickly as it had come.

“It don’t matter now.” The boy picked his helm up once more. It was in the likeness of a bull, she noticed. “Where we're going, they don't care what you've done. They've got rapers, pickpockets, highwaymen murderers.”

Arya felt wary once again. She hadn’t thought much of it. Hot Pie and Lommy, at least, could barely be any of the above. “Which are you?”

It was the boy’s turn to look at her cautiously. “Armourer's apprentice. But my master got sick of me, so here l am.” There was something in his tone that belied bitterness and a hint of sadness even.

She looked at her feet. The feelings from the day were catching up with her, and it was all she could do not to let them bring her to her knees. The boy seemed to catch on. “Which are you?” He echoed her words, but softly.

“I’m no one.” She murmured, fingering Needle’s hilt softly, thinking hard about what she was going to do.

The boy hummed an acknowledgement. “I guess we all are.” He lifted the last huge wooden box from the ground into the wagon next to him. “But we’ve got names at least. I’m Gendry.” He told her, prompting a question.

Arya looked at Gendry, the sun hot in her eyes. He kept her gaze only for a moment, when Yoren called for them all to head out. “I’m Ary-.” A pause. “Arry.” She finished quickly, hoping the pause was imperceptible to Gendry. He seemed to accept it well enough.

They followed the procession of men, boys and supplies down the road, side by side. Arya watched Gendry for a moment from the corner of her eyes. She might not need a protector, but she wouldn’t mind a friend.

****

As he followed the procession, walking at Arry’s side, Gendry reflected bitterly once more on his master’s passing him off to the Night’s Watch. He thought he’d been skilled, a help in Tobho Mott’s shop. An asset even. He supposed he’d been wrong, after all.

Gendry felt eyes on him. Arry was staring at his feet as he walked, but Gendry could have sworn the smaller boy had just been looking at him. There was something strange about the boy. Either he was extremely young for his age, or the Watch was taking babes now.

Gendry set his eyes ahead once again. He couldn’t help but smirk remembering Arry’s quick footwork and sword-work against the other two, the smaller of whom had to have been at least twice Arry’s size. She was a boy to be reckoned with, that was for sure. ‘She?’ Gendry’s tilted his head in confusion at his own slip-up. He glanced at the boy again and turned swiftly away when he realized Arry was cleaning his face with the side of his hand. Gendry’s brow furrowed in confusion. No. Crying or no crying, that was a boy alright.

Either way, with his hard eyes on the boys older than Arry ahead, Gendry decided he’d listen to Yoren and keep his eyes on Arry, no matter how much the boy claimed he didn’t need it.


	2. A Girl

A/N: I was too excited about writing the next chapter already that I couldn't help but post it already. Even if no one's reviewing, I hope someone out there is enjoying this. I also hope I'm doing the characters some sort of justice but would love to hear if there's something I'm missing or need to improve on. Sorry for some of the confusion with the pronouns, since Gendry still thinks Arry is Arry and not Arya. That's what the breaks are for, but hopefully it'll be less confusing and more smooth once that's past. Thanks for reading, if you are!

****

“They coulda given ya a donkey at least.” Gendry murmured as they trundled along behind the rest of the party.

Arya glanced at him, wondering at first if he was mocking her. To her satisfaction, she decided he wasn’t. “I don’t need one if you don’t.”

“You ain’t tired?”

“Not if you’re not.” She shot back. In truth, her legs were starting to strain. Sure, on the best of days, she was able to run from one end of King’s Landing to the other several times in one days, chasing cats and pigeons. But this was a different sort of exertion. They’d been traveling since sun-up and only stopped to relieve themselves for a short amount of time. But she’d never admit her weakness. Not if he wouldn’t.

“You’re relentless.” He sighed. “Well, I _am_ tired.” He slowed his step, letting men behind them pass them by. 

“What are you doing?” Arya asked the boy in annoyance. But she slowed nonetheless. The men and boys walked around them and grumbled as they passed, some of them shouldering Gendry roughly.

He met her eyes and tilted his head toward the last wagon in the convoy. She circled it with him. It was the wagon he’d loaded back in King’s Landing with crates of fur and food.

Gendry hoisted himself up on the wagon. He bent over the edge of the wagon and held a hand out to Arya, so she could join him. Normally, she’d have ignored the hand and leapt up on her own. But she was tired and the wagon was going fast enough that she was worried she wouldn’t make the leap and would only end up looking stupid in front of Gendry. His much larger hand enveloped hers, and though she jumped, most of the force that propelled her onto the wagon was his effortlessly lifting her up.

Gendry settled himself on one of the boxes of furs, Arya content to settle on the edge of the wagon, her legs hanging over the edge.

“Don’t fall off,” he warned her.

“I’m not stupid,” she bit back without any real malice. She looked back at him to see his reaction. Even if she’d sounded harsh, he was grinning slightly.

Gendry looked around. The wagon was the last in the caravan and no one strode behind it, as the donkey pulling it was the weakest of the lot. He reached a long, strong arm behind him and pulled a bright red apple out of a worn, burlap bag. 

She furrowed her brow as he took a bite out of it. “Are we allowed-.”

He cut her off by handing the apple, out of which he’d already taken a few bites, to her. She stared at it shortly. For some strange reason, she thought of her sister just then. Stupid Sansa wouldn’t have bitten out of anything someone else had taken a bite out of first. Bitterly and with more force than was necessary, Arya took the apple out of Gendry’s palm and tore into it with her teeth. Gendry raised his eyebrows at her, as she chomped another few bites off the flesh of the fruit. 

Well, Sansa didn’t know anything. Stupid Sansa who only cared about boys and being proper. Who stood there and did nothing while their father’s head was- No, she wouldn’t think of it. Not yet. Tears pricked her eyes anyway. If their roles were reversed, Sansa wouldn’t have been able to survive. Pretending to be a boy and wandering the Kingsroad with street urchins, criminals and worse. She’d have fainted straight away at the prospect. 

She offered Gendry back the apple. He glanced at it, then to her face. “You finish it. You need it more than I do.” 

She narrowed her eyes. Was he making fun of her small frame? Just as she was going to call him out, she stopped herself. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of mockery. _He was being kind_. The realization gave her the slightest warm feeling in her belly. It was something Jon would have done. A memory came unbidden to her. Jon sneaking into the kitchen to steal away a pastry fresh out of the ovens while the kitchen maids were carrying supper out to the dining hall. He stole the pastry just for her and only took some when she insisted he have some too. Arya looked to Gendry. She may have lost her father and she may not yet be with family, but she certainly wasn’t alone.

Hungry as she was - she was always hungry - she held the apple out again anyway. “We’ll split it, half and half.” She insisted.

He took it from her and smiled gratefully. They watched the empty road retreating ahead of them and the heavy foliage to the sides of it as they finished the sweet fruit down to its core, which Gendry threw far with a heavy arm. Arya watched as it landed yards away.

“You were just a smith back in King’s Landing?” She blurted out.

He glanced at her cautiously. “What d’ya mean?”

Before he could take insult from her use of the word “just,” she corrected herself. “I mean, you didn’t fight or anything?” Her eyes traveled down to the hammer at his waist. “With that maybe? You threatened that stupid Lommy boy with it.”

He grinned slightly at the memory. “No.” He said softly in response. “Unlike some of us, I keep out of trouble.”

She narrowed her eyes up at him again. “I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“Could have fooled me. Or maybe trouble just follows ya.” He grinned sideways at her. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re stupid.” She said simply. 

He chuckled. “Why d’ya want to know? You like to go off fightin’?”

“I was learning to.” Arya murmured, more to herself than to him, thinking heavily on her dancing master, Syrio Forel. _Calm as still water_ , she repeated the mantra and felt the slightest bit better.

Gendry glanced away, toward the woods again. “My master taught me some.” He admitted. “Said I had to know if I was going to help him run the shop.” 

“A blacksmith shop, though?” She interrupted him.

“Aye. We’d sometimes get rough customers who didn’t want to pay double what the rest of the smiths charged.” Gendry said in answer.

“Why’d you charge double?” She asked. Although she’d fended for herself more than a few days before Yoren found her, she hadn’t learned as much of King’s Landing as she’d have liked. Just that without money or status, you starved. Not like out here in the open where she would have been able to survive off berries and plants. Bugs even. One time, at Winterfell, she’d wandered off into the woods for an entire day. Though she’d come back to a household, harried since she’d been missing, she’d declined dinner because she’d lived off the land that day instead.

“We were twice as good.” Though he was bitter at his master, he couldn’t help the hint of pride in his voice as he said it. It was true. Tobho Mott had been the only smith in King’s Landing who could even pray at an ability to forge Valyrian steel, and he’d taught Gendry everything he’d known.

“Did you ever fight anyone who tried to pay less?” Arya asked curiously.

When Gendry realized the boy wanted a story, he thought back to one of the less savory characters who’d frequented the shop. “A few times. One of the worst was some squire or other. Thought we’d offended his honor enough to warrant him walking out without paying a thing. He spit in Tobho’s face-.”

“Who’s Tobho?” Arya interrupted again. She couldn’t help herself.

“My master.” Genry responded. “Before even he could respond in kind, I had a blade at the squire’s throat.” He grinned slightly at the memory. “He managed to parry me off, but in the end, it was ‘im ‘oo couldn’t keep ahold of his sword. Never saw his face again. I expect he began buying from Larno.”

“Who’s Larno?” Arya said quickly. 

“’nother smith in King’s Landing, but not nearly half as good.”

“Was Tobho pleased?”

Gendry’s face twisted at the question and the memory, but he answered the boy nonetheless. “Aye. Gave me my own sword then.” He gestured to the one at this belt, and Arya admired it for a moment.

Her face furrowed in confusion then. “Why’d he get rid of you?”

Gendry’s face darkened. “You ask a lot of annoyin’ questions.” He said more sharply than he intended to.

She narrowed her eyes. “I was curious.” She said coldly. 

Before he could stop her, though she didn’t think he wanted to, she hopped off the wagon, knocking roughly into his shoulder as she did so, and trotted away towards the men and boys marching or riding ahead of them. 

Arya refused to let herself feel disappointed. He was just a stupid boy who thought he was clever because he could forge swords and fight squires. He didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting home. She just had to put up with him and the rest of the stupid boys around her until she managed to do so. Though her legs were short, she strode fast as she could behind the other men. She didn’t need to talk to any of them. She’d think of home, of Winterfell and her family while they traveled and practice her water dancing at night as they rested. A feeling of foreboding cooled her heart the slightest. What if she didn’t make it home? _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ Syrio Forel’s words rang sharply in her mind, and she repeated it like a mantra as she put one foot in front of the other, down the seemingly never-ending Kingsroad.

****

Gendry huffed in frustration at the boy’s change of attitude. He’d thought about calling after Arry, but the boy was quick, and Gendry wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway. He reflected darkly for a few minutes on his own thoughts. King’s Landing. Tobho Mott. And the freezing Wall, still long out of sight, but looming fast in front of them. 

His thoughts shifted suddenly back to Arry. The hot-headed, vicious little boy. Suddenly he felt bad. Why he should care was beyond him but care he did. Maybe his mind just subconsciously realized, if he didn’t, that he was going to need friends on the Wall, cold and friendless as it was. 

He reflected a moment longer before hopping off the wagon, taking his bull’s head with him. He trotted ahead of the wagon and spotted Arry, striding forward on her short legs. Gendry almost stopped short at the thought. ‘His’ not ‘her.’ He shook his own head at himself, though as he approached the boy, he could see why he sometimes made the mishap. For a boy, Arry was lithe and graceful. Pretty, really. For a boy. Gendry’s cheeks reddened at the thought. What was wrong with him? He liked girls. That he knew for a certainty. Still, there was something unsettling about Arry, and he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it.

Gendry caught up to the boy and fell in step with him.

For nearly half an hour, they were both silent, but Gendry considered it a good sign that Arry didn’t run off when Gendry had joined him. 

“‘m sorry,” he finally muttered. He wasn’t the most prideful of young men, but he had enough that he didn’t apologize unless he knew he’d been wrong.

Arry seemed to ignore him, but Gendry knew he’d heard.

“I don’t know why my master got rid of me,” Gendry admitted finally. “He just did.”

There was silence once more but the boy had cocked his head in Gendry’s direction.

“I did everything just as he told me. He didn’t have no sons. I had half a mind he might be giving me charge of the shop one day.” He paused. “Even a bastard can run a blacksmith shop, I thought.” That unrelenting tone of bitterness again.

Gendry stopped again. The subject really was still a sore one.

Arry finally looked at him. “My father died.” The boy’s voice was solemn but steady.

Gendry looked straight at him and couldn’t help but notice how gray the boy’s eyes were. They were the slightest bit wild, but no tears hid there. “I’m sorry.” Gendry said with a hard sincerity. Understanding passed between them, as they fell into precise step with each other.

****

Arya didn’t know why she’d told him. Maybe it was because with Gendry’s admission that he’d no longer been wanted, he’d also divulged to her that there was no other place for him. She’d felt that way her entire life. Maybe it was that he’d outright called himself a bastard. And, as she’d been told before, she had a soft spot in her heart for bastards where hardly anyone else did. Gendry possessed characteristics that reminded her of Jon, and she couldn’t see past that either.

It had hurt to tell him. To say it out loud had changed everything. It was true. It was real. It had happened. Ned Stark was never going to welcome her into his arms ever again. Was never going to cuff her gently on the chin and tell her how much she reminded him of his dead but beautiful sister Lyanna – wild…a true girl of the North. Never give her exactly the things she needed but lacked in a household where the girl was expected to be everything like Sansa but nothing like herself. It took all of Arya’s strength to keep going. Really, it took her father’s strength. Because she did it for him.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Until Yoren called out that it was time to stop for the night. The sun was barely sinking below the horizon to the west of them. Arya scurried off of the path after Gendry, who followed the men ahead of him. 

Arya mostly watched as the men set up for the night. It was strange, but Yoren seemed to be directing the men to set up a watch, directly towards the direction in which they’d come. Did Yoren think the King was going to come after them? If Arya could be scared, if she wasn’t a wolf, she might have been scared just then. She’d had the feeling she was free. As free as she could be in the middle of Westeros without her family. But maybe the King could catch up with her after all. 

She gazed around the camp, and her eyes came to rest on Gendry, who was helping some of the other men peg the horses and donkeys in a field to the left of where the men and boys would sleep. Her eyes went to the line of the forest beyond that. She should go. Just in case. The thought slipped away as quickly as it had come, as her eyes, on their own, found Gendry again in the crowd. What she wanted, what she needed, was to be back with her mother, Robb, Bran and Rickon. The quickest way was with the Watch. She’d just have to risk the King coming after her. If he was smart enough to figure out how she’d gotten away. She snorted. She doubted it. 

She realized suddenly that she’d been watching Gendry for an inordinate amount of time, though she hadn’t known it. The way the large muscles in his arms rippled as he strained to do one difficult task after another. His taut strong stomach when his leather vest lifted as a horse reared, unwilling to be pegged. And he’d noticed. He tilted his head questioningly at her. Her cheeks reddened, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She ignored the soft burning at the bottom of her stomach, a subtle feeling of pleasure. She wasn’t sure what it meant. Gendry was a stupid boy after all. Why should she get any pleasurable feelings from watching him?

She turned suddenly and stalked into the woods, angry at herself but not quite sure why either. She had to make water, but she had to get far from here before she did so lest she was found out. No one could know.

****

With a puzzled look at the multitude of emotions that crossed the boy’s face in the moments before, Gendry watched Arry stalk off into the woods. Wondering where he was off to in such a rush, Gendry made to walk after him, then remembered that he hadn’t seen Arry take a piss all day. When they’d stopped for the rest of the camp to take a leak, the boy would just disappear into the woods, returning minutes later. Gendry’s brow furrowed. What kind of boy bothered hiding to piss? Unless he was some kind of eunuch. Gendry shook his head at the thought and started helping set up tents and furs for the men to sleep on.

Later though, he watched as Arry returned. The boy sized up the way the camp had been set up and scowled. Gendry couldn’t help but grin. Arry had that effect on him. He wasn’t used to being affected that way by anyone. For the most part, he kept to himself in the forge. Even the girls at the inns couldn’t make him smile, though they tried. Desperately sometimes. Still, he never touched them. He had his reasons. He shook his head fiercely at himself again, furious and confused that thoughts of the little boy led him to thoughts of tavern maids. Because his thoughts had been betraying him as of late, he contemplated staying away from Arry, but the thought dwindled as quick as it had formed. Arry was the most interesting person in the bunch, not to mention entertaining, and a long, arduous trip to the Wall lay ahead of them.

Gendry had set up a fur next to his own, nearer the fire, for the boy. Arry, however, stalked over to the tents and furs, grabbed one of the furs and stalked off, dragging it, towards the field in which the horses and mules lay. Arry stopped under the shadow of a tree just at the border of the field and plopped down on the fur, glaring fiercely out at the rest of them, never once meeting Gendry’s gaze.

Gendry sighed in defeat. He picked up his own thinner fur and strode over to join Arry. 

****

Arya scowled again when she saw Gendry approaching. She just wanted to be left alone. For once.

Without a word, though, Gendry set his fur down nearby and lay down on his back, crossing his legs and gazing up at the darkening sky.

Arya was just about to scold him for bothering her when, without looking at her, he plucked a small bundle from out of his helmet and tossed it to her. She caught it easily and unwrapped the paper to reveal a still warm juicy cut of lamb on stale but more or less freshly baked bread. She stifled a smile. How he knew that the only way she wouldn’t make him leave was if he brought her food was beyond her. Her stomach rumbled, and glancing quickly at him, she saw a smile form on his face. She ignored him and began to wolf down the food. She couldn’t help the cry of delight that came to her lips when she saw the cheese buried beneath the slab of bread. She didn’t realize how hungry she’d been, after not having eaten in King’s Landing for days.

“You eat like a hog.” Gendry interrupted her food rapture.

She spoke through a mouth full of chunks of lamb and bread. “At least I don’t look like one.”

Gendry snorted. She’d caught him off guard, she thought, pleased with herself.

“And you sound like one too.” She added.

He laughed harder than even before.

Finishing off the last bit of cheese, disappointed there wasn’t more, and licking her fingers thoroughly, she lay back, sighing contentedly. 

Suddenly, she heard Gendry’s stomach rumble loudly. He shifted on his fur and turned his head sideways, so he was looking away from her. 

She sat up on her elbows and looked at him yet again through narrow eyes. “Didn’t you eat?”

He mumbled something incoherent. 

“Speak up, stupid.” She growled.

He turned and looked at her disbelievingly, then blinked. “‘m not hungry.”

Her eyes flashed at him. “Was that your share _and_ mine?” She threw the crumpled paper that had been holding food meant for two. It fell short of his head, and he lay back down, training his eyes on the dusky, periwinkle blue of the sky.

“You needed it more than me.” He said flatly.

“I. don’t. need. you. to look after me.” She spoke fiercely.

He sat up suddenly and glared at her just as fiercely. “Or. You could just say thank you.”

She began to speak, then stopped short, huffed loudly and turned to lay on her side facing away from him. She twisted and turned violently until she was comfortable.

****

As Gendry scowled the boy’s way, his glare fell away slowly as he came to a realization, watching him get comfortable on his fur. A realization he hadn’t come to while the boy was standing and walking because his clothes had hung loosely on him. The boy was not only lithe and graceful but curvy as well. From his vantage point, as the boy’s clothes got caught underneath his shifting body, Gendry could see that the boy had breasts and a well-rounded bottom. 

The boy was not a boy at all. _He was a girl._

“Seven hells.” He whispered, suddenly understanding his fixation that entire day with Arry and the way he – No. _She._ – affected him. Come to think of it, he thought suddenly, that probably wasn’t even her name.

He stared at her, confirming his suspicions in his mind as he thought back to her mannerisms throughout the day, her walk, her voice, her wandering off to piss, the niggling suspicion in the back of his mind that something about Arry was off. Not to mention the way his cheeks had reddened earlier at the unconscious feelings he was having when gazing her way. Now that he knew she was indeed a girl, she was ten times prettier than he’d thought. How didn’t the rest of them notice? More importantly, what in the name of the king was a girl doing heading to the Wall with the Night’s Watch and how much did Yoren know about it?

Perplexed, Gendry lay back on his fur and stared at the night sky. Arry didn’t act like a girl at all. None of those he knew back in King’s Landing, even the roughest, could hold their own against grown boys like those she’d beaten back in the city. He lifted his eyebrows, impressed now, more so than before. Then he began to laugh. Quietly so he wouldn’t wake her up. If those boys found out a girl had beaten them… Suddenly the smile dissipated. Gendry looked towards the group of men and boys in the clearing beyond: rapers, thieves and murderers. They couldn’t find out. He glanced behind him at Arry. How old was she? To be as developed as she was for him to notice what she was, she had to have been at least ten and three, if not older. He looked back at the men. Now, more so than even before, he knew, he had to watch over him. _Her_ , he corrected himself.

He stood then and dragged his fur so it was further below the tree, nearer hers, then lay back down. She wasn’t his responsibility, but if he didn’t watch out for her, who would? He tried to think more about that than about the growing realization of why Arry the boy had been making him smile and laugh so much all day, when most others couldn’t get more than a condescending smirk out of him.

He was suddenly glad Arry had settled to bed further from the main camp. The others were stupid but not too stupid to notice what lay beneath her clothes when they could see it. 

He glanced behind them again toward the crowd of men, some who were drinking ale. What if one of them came out this way in the night to take a piss and took notice? Gendry shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t stay up all night watching her. He’d be hell on the road tomorrow if he did. He lifted his head and took his cloak, the one he’d been using as a pillow, from under him. Sitting up, he spread the cloak over her, praying she was asleep, or she’d probably actually punch him for deigning to keep her warm. _I don’t need help_ , he mocked her in his mind, smiling. Thankfully she didn’t stir. That should do it, he thought, as he tucked the cloak closely around her.

He lay back down and tried to fall easily into a deep sleep that didn’t come. He was in a half-way state between sleep and wake when he heard it. A howling far in the distance. His heart pounded just a little faster. He was sure they were safe, but he’d never been out in the wilderness like this before. 

Then he heard the girl and forgot his fear. Was she crying? She shifted under the cloak, while cries and incomprehensible words came from her lips. 

He heard one. “Father.” 

She repeated the name like a prayer a few times, her voice breathless and wrenching. He furrowed his brow at her. In the distance, the wolf howled longer and louder, as if closer. And Arry cried in her sleep. Gendry wasn’t sure what to do. He never cried anymore, but when he’d been a young boy – well, no one had been around to comfort him then. Still… He tentatively reached a hand out towards her, unsure it was the right move. His hand froze a few times, hovering inches from her before it settled on the girl’s back. Light as a feather. He made circular motions over her small back. He felt stupid, just like she called him. But her cries faded, and the howling in the distance died out too after a few minutes. He fell asleep with his hand laying comfortingly upon her back.


	3. A Star

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for your support and for reading. I’m having so much fun writing this. I promise there won’t be too much more dialogue borrowed from the book/show, as I’ll start adding scenes that weren’t in either. The scenes I keep from the book/show are just too good to keep out, and I really want Gendry’s thoughts on them. Please let me know if there are any changes I should make, especially in the way Arya’s and Gendry’s characters are written. I’d hate to do them anything but justice. Reviews are welcome and inspiring! Open to suggestions and ideas!**

* * *

 

Arya awoke with a start. _She was a wolf. She was a wolf surrounded by her pack. She feared nothing but everything feared her_. A field of donkeys and horses lay spread out in front of her. No. She was a girl. She was all alone. She was packless. And she was afraid. She shook the last of sleep and the dreams of loping through the forest, her pack at her heels, out of her head. The dream had been but a dream, but she was still a wolf.

The sun was coming up in the horizon beyond her. Her breath came out white and steamy, but other than the very tip of her nose, she wasn’t cold. In the incredibly far distance, a red star could still be seen streaming across the sky. Comet. The word came unbidden to her mind. That was no star. Stars weren’t red. She watched it in wonder and shuddered at its implications. Red as the blood that flooded the steps that witnessed her father’s death. Red as the blood that stained her father’s sword, Ice, in the dishonor of the manner of his execution. No, she chided herself, his murder.

Sleep still found refuge in Arya’s eyelids, but her brain was sharper. Where had the cloak she was snuggling into come from? She didn’t panic. It kept her warm, and wherever it had come from, she wasn’t giving it back. Not until the sun was high enough to warm her on its own. Perhaps that comet of fire and blood would help it heat up faster.

Something on her back flexed, and her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed. She turned just her neck to see that the stupid bull who couldn’t mind his own business had moved closer to her in the night. She was angry to see his hand resting on her back. _Who did he think he was?_ She shifted violently so his hand dropped from her back and fell beside him. He didn’t wake up, barely stirred. He was still too close for her liking.

But then she noticed he was shivering. He was a child of the South. She was a wolf of the North. He couldn’t withstand the cold like she could. Besides, she’d finally made the connection of the cloak to the boy beside her. He’d kept her warm all night, not only with the cloak but by shielding her with his body from the wind that blew from the ocean not all that far to the West. Her brow furrowed even deeper. Why was he doing this? It wasn’t just that she didn’t need anyone’s help. It was that she saw no reason he should want to go out of his way to do anything for her, let alone make himself uncomfortable to her benefit.

Suspicion dawned in her mind about his intentions, but she dismissed it quickly. She knew little so far about Gendry but more about him now than the rest of the others combined, including Yoren. He wasn’t here because he’d been condemned to it due to his crimes. He was here because he had no choice. Like her. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him just yet, but she appreciated the small gifts of kindness he seemed to give her with no expectation that it should be returned to him.

Her brow softened as she stared at his face, vulnerable with sleep. His mouth was slightly open, and while he didn’t snore, small audible, deep breaths came from his mouth with every rise and fall of his chest. Facing him now, she could smell the slight honeyed scent of ale on his breath, not unpleasant at all. He had one arm wrapped tightly around his chest, the other still outstretched in her direction. But still he shivered. She wondered if she had been shivering in the night as well and whether that had been the reason he’d come closer and cloaked her.

Cloaked her, she thought. Like a man cloaked a woman when they married, bringing her under his protection. She stuck her tongue out in disgust at herself and hated her thoughts for betraying her. She wasn’t bloody Sansa. She didn’t think about marriage at all, especially in relation to a stupid boy. Really, she only ever thought about marriage so as to figure out ways to get out of it one day.

Loathe as she was to separate from the coat which was warm still with the heat from her own body, she unraveled it from around her. The cold wasn’t so bad. No worse, indeed not as bad as, the cold in the North she’d been bred in. She stood cautiously so as not to tread on Gendry, though he deserved it, she thought, for refusing to accept she didn’t want his help. She was careful to drape the cloak, heavy as it was, over his sleeping form. _Quiet as a shadow_. Syrio Forel might as well have been with her, his voice kept coming to mind. She had cloaked him, with the side down that had been against her own body so it was at its warmest. The boy’s breath hitched in his sleep, and he stirred slightly, drawing his outstretched arm back into his body. Slowly, the shivering under the cloak stopped. Arya stared down at him a minute longer, wondering, and frustrated because she didn’t understand.

But she had to take a piss, so figuring out how some people could be this stubborn and kind and annoying all at the same time, would have to wait until later.

* * *

 

The first thing Gendry thought of when he was dragged from sleep by the sounds of the camp rousing and preparing to head out for the day was that he was warm. He remembered he’d fallen asleep shivering and had woken up several times through the night, stiff with cold. He’d only managed to fall asleep again by burrowing as close as he could to the mysterious girl without risking her fury were she to wake.

The very next thing he noticed was that same girl with the warmth and biting words was gone. He sat up suddenly. Confusion racked his brow when the cloak that had been wrapped around his shoulders fell to his lap. He picked it up in his hands and stared at it, then looked around. The second fur was not only vacant; it was gone. He looked around in bewilderment.

Had it all been a dream? Was there no girl? Not even a boy? Or was she real? Had she draped his own cloak over him in the night? She was so feisty…to the point of rudeness, he couldn’t be sure that was something she would do.

He climbed to his feet and stretched, searching the crowd for the short, thin walking beast he’d agreed to keep track of. His lips, of their own volition, formed into the smallest of grins at the thought of how she’d react at being called a beast.

Gendry rolled up his fur and gathered up his other belongings and strolled over to the wagon him and the girl had ridden in together just the day before. He was glad to see there was another fur, already tightly rolled up in the same corner he placed his, and it looked to be the fur Arry had lain on through the night. As he wandered the camp, helping the other men and boys with various tasks to get them on their way, he looked out for her.

After a time, when he hadn’t seen her in any of the faces before him, Gendry grew worried. He searched for Yoren, found him, but the girl was nowhere near. If anyone else had figured out her secret… No. He wouldn’t think about it. Not yet. If they hadn’t noticed yesterday, they’d never notice. Not until she filled out the way girls are want to do, he thought involuntarily. Suddenly his face was hot again as he thought about that inevitability. He grew angry at himself. Was he just as bad as the lot of them? No, he decided. He was looking out for her, not harming her. Still…how could a girl on the precipice of womanhood go to the Wall, of all places? The Night’s Watch didn’t take girls. It was known.

Gendry cursed under his breath, then remembered the day before and how she had stolen into the woods. He turned on his heel and rushed toward the same thicket of trees. He worked his way quickly through them, all the while looking for signs she might be hidden somewhere in the dense shadows provided by the thick canopies of leaves and heavy branches above.

Gendry’s heartbeat quickened again, for there was no sign of her as of yet. About a hundred yards into the thicket, he heard a trickle of water. The light grew brighter around him and after another ten yards, he was entering a clearing. A stream ran through it and wild flowers and plants grew thick in it. He heard her before he saw her. She was breathing heavily and appeared to be…fighting someone?

He hurried then, blasting quickly into the clearing, his hand at his hammer. He stopped suddenly at the edge of the stream.

The girl who passed for a boy – Arry – had her sword out and was dancing through the air. Strange, fluid motions for someone in a pretend sword fight.

“Swift as a deer. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Strong as a bear. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords.” She was murmuring to herself almost frantically. The last phrase she kept repeating, like a prayer. She was faced away from him so did not see him.

He stood, watching her, entranced in just the slightest. She wasn’t all talk, he thought back to the day before when she’d been coarser in her movements against Lommy and Hot Pie. Then he remembered why he was here in the first place.

“What are you doin’?” He demanded. “You can’t go wanderin’ off like that.”

Arry spun around and was suddenly lobbing a stone his way. She was far enough away that he ducked to the side, and narrowly missed getting hit by it.

“You broke my concentration,” Arry roared at him, lobbing another stone his way. Gendry dodged the second stone and chuckled under his breath, so Arry wouldn’t hear. “Why are you sneaking up on me?”

“I was only lookin’ for you, _boy_.” Gendry put some emphasis on the word, though she didn’t seem to pick up on his jest. “The men are almost ready to get back on the road.”

She huffed but tucked her sword back into her belt. “I knew that,” she insisted. “I was just about to come back.” She hopped easily across the stream. He was pleased to see that she didn’t seem as angry as she had when she’d first seen him behind her in the clearing.

As she passed him, he spoke seriously. “Arry.” She stopped short and glared fiercely up at him. He swallowed, uncertain now that her gray eyes pierced his from such a short distance. “You’ve got to be careful. There ain’t no tellin’ what matter of beast lies in these woods.”

“There’s just wolves,” she shrugged up at him, seemingly confused at his concern. “Wolves don’t scare me.” She added matter-of-factly.

“Beasts meanin’ animals _and_ men.”

“And stupid, stubborn bulls that follow you around.” She added slyly, kicking him in the shins almost softly, before barreling down the trail he’d taken to find her.

“And sneaky little hogs ‘oo can’t follow directions!” He called after her retreating form. Shaking his head, he made his way back, both frustrated and amused, though more the latter than the former.

* * *

 

Neither of them mentioned the cloak or their sleeping arrangement from the night before. Arya thought of ways to bring it up but thought they all sounded stupid so kept quiet. On that matter, at least. She had a whole host of things to say about other topics.

“Why isn’t anyone else going North?” She demanded.

It was true they’d been passed several times on the road by other travelers, all heading South. Most came with small wagonloads of possessions, as if they dragged the contents of their old homes on the carts behind them. Men, women and children alike. Many look scared and didn’t talk to, let alone make eye contact with, the men taking the black.

Some of the men traveling alone or in small groups spoke to Yoren. One offered to buy all of the food, medicines and furs off the wagons for a quarter of their price. Yoren spat at his feet. The man had turned a livid shade of red, but as he was one in a group of six facing a much larger group behind Yoren, he merely turned on his heel, muttering they were marching to their death anyway, what with the wars ahead of them.

“What does he mean by wars?” Arya’s brow was deeply furrowed.

Although she’d asked the question out loud for anyone to answer, Gendry shrugged when no one else responded.

Gendry, quiet as he was, spoke too. “Did you see the Red Sword?” He asked her.

“What?” She was bewildered, then followed his gaze to the red star looming ominously overhead. “You mean the comet?” She blurted out.

He gave her a blank stare.

“It is.” She insisted. “My mae-.” She stopped herself short. Little orphan boys from nowhere didn’t have maesters. “Someone told me that’s what those are called,” she finished stupidly. Before he could make fun of her somehow, she rushed ahead with “Why do you call it that?”

Gendry blinked at her in amusement and looked back up. “Ain’t it sorta shaped like one?” He tilted his head toward the comet, but Arya was watching him. “When we put them to the heat in the forge, they come out lookin’ as red as all that.” He nodded toward the comet again, then looked to see her reaction.

Arya had still been watching his expressive face, but when she caught sight of him catching sight of her, she swiveled her face upward swiftly. A lump caught in her throat, as she realized she agreed with Gendry, but it wasn’t the nameless sword in the forge she thought of. As before, she thought of Ice, stained red with the blood of her father…her blood.

“It looks like a sword just after killing a man.” Her voice was strangely hitched. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Gendry looked at her strangely, but not unkindly, and left the comet alone after that.

Instead, soon after, perhaps to cheer her up, he nudged her and tilted his head toward Lommy and Hot Pie who weren’t too far behind them. When they caught sight of Arya looking their way, they blanched.

“They twitch and fidget every time you look at ‘em.” He chuckled.

Was it proudly? She thought. Then shook her head. Why should he care? All the same, she couldn’t stop the grin that crept slowly over her features. That would show them. That would show them all not to mess with her. If she had bloody King Joffrey at her mercy, today, and good, old Needle…hell, even a stick would do it. Except, unlike Hot Pie and Lommy, she’d finish him off.

The thought left a satisfying taste in her mouth, and her eyes burned, reflecting the fiery comet.

* * *

 

Gendry realized what the mound of earth on the side of the road was as they approached it before most of the rest of them did. He hoped Arry hadn’t seen it yet and wondered how he could draw the girl’s attention so she didn’t. She’d told him her father had just died, and death would only remind her of death. He thought about bringing up the Red Sword again, but that had only made her brood. Arry, however, was sharper than he gave her credit for, despite the number of times she’d already proven it.

“A grave,” she nudged him with her elbow. But her eyes were more curious than sad. He mulled over her strange reactions to events. She was no stranger to tragedy. Still, she didn’t have half the sensibilities of other girls neither. She was rough ‘round the edges and tough down to her core. Not for the first time, he wondered where she’d picked it up. She might be some sort of orphan like the other young boys, but she didn’t hail from Flea Bottom, or King’s Landing for that matter, any more than he hailed from Dorne.

“Aye,” he agreed softly all the same.

Gendry had heard talk between Yoren and two of the other grown men. The kingdom had fallen on hard times. Not for the nobility, of course, Gendry thought bitterly. No, their stomachs were full and the rest of them untouched by what the common people suffered. It was the bulk of the kingdom, those who lived and died by their daily hard work in the fields and stifling forges who bore the brunt of the hard times. Those weakened by travel and starvation died on the road and were left on the road. No royal crypts for them. No crypt of any sort, for that matter.

Gendry hadn’t lied when he’d told Arry he didn’t know what wars that thief had mentioned earlier in the day, but he knew there was one being waged North of them, and they were headed straight for it. He found himself yet again worried. More for the girl than for himself, even if unreasonably so.

He’d had half a mind to confront Yoren but was worried the word might get out. Arry was safer, for now, as Arry than whoever she really was.

* * *

 

For the second time in two days, Gendry had saved her short legs from exhaustion by pulling her onto the wagon behind him. This time he let her sit deeper within the wagon, so she could lay back and follow the comet with her eyes. He opted to sit on the edge of the wagon, his bull helmet sitting dutifully at his side.

“What do you think it means?” Arya asked suddenly.

Gendry didn’t have to look to know what she was talking about. “Not sure it means anythin’.”

She glared at him for a moment. “My old Na-.” Did little orphan boys have old Nans who spun them tales from centuries past? No, perhaps not. “I heard,” she corrected herself, “that red comets represent death and war.”

He glanced at her, then back at the road. “Had plenty of that to go around before the star showed itself.” He nodded darkly at the last mound on the side of the road that they’d passed only some yards away.

Arya huffed in some frustration. “Yeah, but it’s more of a warning of war and death to come. In the future,” she clarified.

“Sounds like an old superstition.” He murmured.

“It is!” Arya grinned, glad he was finally getting it. “It’s a bad omen.”

“I'd much rather believe it’s an omen meanin’ the Wall’s going to be warmer than we thought.”

“It’s not,” Arya interrupted before she could help herself. “Winter is coming.”

Gendry looked at her strangely. “Aye, s’pose that’s true enough what with every night growin’ colder…” He trailed off awkwardly, unwilling to be the first to bring up his cloaking of her.

Arya shrugged. “The cold doesn’t bother me.” She didn’t see him grinning disbelievingly at her. Of course it didn’t, not under that heavy coat of his in the dead of night, but he didn’t say anything.

“Who do you think’s gone to war?” Arya asked him again.

Gendry shrugged. “Do it matter one way or another? In the end, the common people are the ones ‘oo suffer. The lords ‘n ladies of the great houses don’t clean up the messes they’ve made or build the countryside back up once it’s through. Who’s on both sides don’ really matter as much as ‘oo gets killed in the way of ‘em.”

Arya stared at him until he blushed and looked away, then stared back up at the sky. Gendry’s words bothered her mostly because she wasn’t sure he was wrong. She thought back on the stories of her father and King Robert at war against the Targaryens. She wondered if they’d cleaned up their own messes or if it had been impoverished country folk like those passing them on the road, with little to nothing to their name, who had borne the brunt of their battles.

The thought made her sad. “What if it’s the common people the lords and ladies are fighting for?” She found herself asking Gendry almost softly, genuinely interested in knowing what he might say to that. All that she had known about the war and her father…she knew he only did what was best for them all, not to gain power. Not like they’d just said he’d tried to do in King’s Landing. He would never do that. He was good.

“Is it ever us they’re fightin’ for?” He eyed her seriously. “Or is it for that throne made of bent and burnt, for all accounts worthless, swords?”

Arya pondered his words.

“And ladies don’t fight, do they?” He interrupted her thoughts suddenly, looking back at her with the slyest of grins.

She sat up and glared savagely at him. “And why couldn’t they? Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen both rode dragons and fought alongside King Aegon I,” She blurted out. That most certainly wasn’t something she supposed an orphan boy would know. Or, frankly, should care about.

Gendry stared at her in surprise. “Who?”

Arya settled back down with a huff. “Never mind.”

She daydreamed that she had a dragon, a massive one with grey and silver scales, the same coloring as Nymeria. She pictured herself hopping onto the dragon’s back and turning round to fly back to King’s Landing where she’d burn down the Red Keep, killing all of those who’d murdered her father, especially Joffrey and the Queen. But Sansa was there, in the Red Keep as well, she thought suddenly. If she burnt it down, she’d hurt her sister. Arya abandoned dreams of burning the King and his mother and focused instead on returning to Winterfell and perchance, on the way, finding Nymeria once more.

* * *

 

After the girl had fallen into her daze on the back of the wagon, Gendry had watched her for a bit at first. The emotions that played across her face were joy, anger, sadness and confusion all at once. When she shifted in place, he looked away, lest she catch him staring. Though he’d been sure he’d caught her staring his way earlier in the day, when he’d been pointing the Red Sword out to her.

As evening grew closer, they joined the others on foot. Word passed back towards them that an inn lay ahead where they might eat and bathe and sleep for the night, though they’d still be sleeping under the stars.

A small village widened around them as dusk began to fall. Inhabitants of the small homes milled about outside, watching their group with suspicious eyes. One girl, maybe a year or two older than Gendry, eyed him hungrily and lowered her eyes to her bosom, so he might follow her gaze. He scowled and looked ahead.

Once they arrived at the ivy-covered inn, Gendry helped some of the other men peg the horses and donkeys outside the stables.

Nearby, Yoren was bellowing orders. “"We'll sleep outside, same as ever, but they got a bathhouse here, if any of you feels the need o' hot water and a lick o' soap."

Gendry noticed there was already a line of men and boys headed for the tubs and did not want to be last. He began to hurry over and stopped short, glancing over his shoulder at Arry. She didn’t dare, he thought. Sure enough her eyes were averted, and she looked busy pretending to look busy. He’d leave that well enough alone. He headed off towards the tubs after Tarber and Hot Pie.

Gendry was relieved to see he’d managed to get the last unoccupied tub, which meant he wouldn’t have to share anyone else’s dirty bathwater. He slid out of his vest, tunic and breeches, all dusty and grimy with the Kingsroad. The water was tepid, but felt good after three days’ hard traveling. What was worse, Tobho Mott had sent him off so suddenly, his last bath before leaving King’s Landing had been a day or two before even that. The soap was rough, but it smelled good enough and seemed to get most of the dirt off. He hurried somewhat, meaning to also get one of the first plates of food served, so as to not miss out on the fresher fare.

He left the tunic off so his newly clean body wouldn’t pick up the tunic’s musty smell and slipped only his vest back over his head. The breeches he’d just have to deal with.

Gendry trotted back out to the yard and headed toward the inn’s common room when he saw the small girl being shoved out the front door by Yoren’s rough hands. She looked like she was about to start an argument with Yoren when she saw Gendry approaching.

Suddenly she looked sheepish. In her hands, she was balancing a platter of food and a mug of beer. “I stole this for you, so they wouldn’t take it all.” She sounded almost embarrassed, and he dare not make a jest about it.

He inclined his head in gratitude as he took the food and drink from her hands. “Gettin’ yourself into trouble again, _boy_?” Gendry prodded, now that his supper was safe in his hands.

They both sank down, facing each other, to the large rocks that lined the entryway of the inn. The girl didn’t notice his teasing. “Yoren kicked me out.” She replied sullenly, shrugging.

Gendry stopped chewing on the warm pork pie. “Not because you took this for me.” He hoped.

She’d watched his lips as he’d talked, his mouth full of half-chewed apple and pork but shook her head. “I was getting into a fight with some other traveler over wolves.”

Gendry almost choked on his food as he began to laugh, making the girl only glare the fiercer. “Sorry,” he mumbled, taking two large gulps of beer before his throat was clear again. “Wolves.” He thought back to that morning when she’d said she wasn’t scared of them. “What do you know about wolves anyhow?”

“They don’t eat babies for a start.” She bit back, all the while whacking her sword against the ground.

“The blade’s going to get dull you keep doin’ that,” Gendry told her through another bite of his dinner.

She narrowed her eyes up at him. “I know that, stupid. Just like I know how to sharpen it.”

Gendry ignored her. “Who said wolves eat babies and how d’ya know they don’t?” He quipped.

“Some stupid traveler inside. He’s probably never seen a wolf in his life.” She murmured angrily.

“Oh and you have?”

She didn’t respond, just glared resentfully down at the ground as if it’d wronged her.

“They don’t,” she repeated stubbornly, kicking her foot now at the rock he was sitting on. Suddenly she stood and wandered off.

Gendry let her go, figuring she’d be less like to argue if he left her alone to her thoughts for a bit, whatever they were. The more she spoke, and the more range of things she spoke on, Gendry was surer and surer she wasn’t even from this part of the realm, let alone King’s Landing.

Once he’d finished his food and beer, he took the platter and mug back inside the tavern. The comely maid who took both from him inside made an offer that would require his following her upstairs. He noticed that some of the other lads had taken up other maids on the same type of offer and were heading up the inn’s stairs. Yoren was watching them with a scowl. Gendry turned the woman down and headed back outside.

That was when he saw Arry using a large wooden stick to beat one of the men in the locked up wagon that Yoren had forbid them approach. He shook his head in growing frustration.

She didn’t hear him approaching. The biggest man in the wagon was hissing and spitting at her. She raised the stick ahead of her as if to hit him again as she backed away. Gendry brought a hand down heavily on her shoulder. That was his mistake.

The girl whirled around viciously, aiming the stick at him. “What are you doing?” She growled.

Gendry was amused and annoyed at the same time, but raised his hands defensively so she would not hit him. “Yoren said none of us should go near those three.” He told her as if it was obvious, though he could already guess at her response.

“They don’t scare me.” She shot at him, as he’d known she would.

“Hmm?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard her, if only to annoy her. “Then you’re stupid. They scare me.” Gendry’s hand was on the hilt of his sword as he eyed the wagon seriously. The second biggest man only laughed menacingly. “Let’s get away from them.” Gendry motioned back toward the inn.

They were nearing the entrance of the inn when Arry blurted out, “Want to fight?”

Gendry turned around and blinked at her. Could she be serious? “I’d hurt you,” he told her. He knew she could do some damage, but he was so much bigger than her.

“You would not.” She argued defensively, arms across her chest.

“You don’t know how strong I am.” How was he going to get out of this without telling her he couldn’t fight her because she was a girl, and he knew it? Then he wondered if even that would stop her from wanting to fight. Probably not.

“You don’t know how quick I am.” She bit back. That brought the shadow of a smile to his face. She needed to be brought down just a slight peg or two.

“You’re asking for it, Arry,” he warned her, drawing the sword his master had given him before his departure. “This is cheap steel, but it’s a real sword.”

The girl drew her own thinner sword. “This is good steel, so it’s realer than yours.” She always had to have the last word, it seemed, and everything was a competition. Gendry started having doubts again about whether she was actually a “she.”

Gendry just shook his head though. “Promise not to cry if I cut you?”

The girl’s eyes flashed at him. “I’ll promise if you will.” She was grinning now. A bloody sword fight was all it took to make the girl happy.

But Gendry wasn’t grinning. He was watching the road over the shoulder of the girl where five approaching horses brought with them what could only be bad news.

“Gold cloaks.” He muttered, his face pinched now with worry.  
  
The girl whirled around in what seemed like panic. She eyed them for the shortest of moments. Suddenly, though she moved smoothly and calmly, she was upon him, taking him by the elbow with a stronger grip than he would have thought possible. She dragged him with her to the corner of the inn and behind a tall flowery hedge.

Gendry was completely bewildered now. “What is it? What are you doing?” He stared down at her, but she was staring intently around the edge of the hedge toward the approaching horses.

“Quiet as a shadow,” he barely heard her whisper, then she was pulling him down next to her in a crouch, so his head didn’t stick out over the hedge. He couldn’t help but notice how close they were in distance. Her cheek touched the top of his head as she peered out over the yard. He could feel her jaw working against his head, as she chewed on her bottom lip, a habit she regularly succumbed to. Wait…when had he began to notice she even _had_ a habit?

Gendry and Arry watched the angry exchange between Yoren and the gold cloaks from the shadows. The men from the city began to dismount their horses.

“Why are we hiding?” Gendry murmured at her softly.

The girl tilted her head to look down at him and put her lips near his ear. “It’s me they want.” Her breath tickled his ear warmly, and he suppressed a shudder that came upon him suddenly, unbidden. “You be quiet.” And so he was.

But out of everything the girl had ever said to him or in his presence, this was the most startling. It wasn’t possible that a little girl could have the King sending out five of his best men after her. For what? He wondered then if she’d actually killed someone, like she’d said back in King’s Landing. Someone important. For some reason, his mind wandered to that Hand of the King, who’d just been killed. But that had been by the King, hadn’t it?

Gendry shook his head doubtfully. “But why would the Queen want you, Arry?”

The small girl’s fist was suddenly punching him in the shoulder, and he was surprised to find that it actually hurt. He hadn’t expected her to pack such force in her small fist. “Shut up.” She hissed at him. And he tried.

Gendry tried to focus on Yoren and the gold cloaks and while he caught every word, he was distracted because the more heated the conversation got, the closer the girl pushed herself against his back so as to peer even further around the bush to see what was happening. Needless to say, despite all of his insistence that he was only interested in helping her, Gendry was distracted.

Suddenly, men and boys from their party around the yard were picking up arms in defense of Yoren and whichever boy it was – Arry, supposedly, according to herself – that they were looking for.

“None of you even know what end of a sword to hold.” One of the gold cloaks was snickering at the lot of them.

In retrospect, Gendry should have seen it coming…what happened next. Before he could stop her, Arry had flitted out from behind the hedge, her sword drawn and in front of her.

“I do!” The girl took a stance similar to the one she’d been in earlier when he’d found her in the clearing.

The gold cloak laughed even louder as he looked at her. "Put the blade away, little girl, no one wants to hurt you."

Gendry cursed under his breath. The damned idiot had just given it all way. Now everyone in the party would know the blasted child was a girl. Gendry supposed none of that mattered if they didn’t fight off the gold cloaks in the first place. His own sword in hand, he approached to stand behind Arry and glared up at the guards.

“I’m not a girl,” she’d exclaimed anyway. “I’m the one you’re looking for.” Gendry cursed again.

The gold cloak speaking for the lot of them was suddenly staring directly at Gendry. “He’s the one we want.”

Gendry went cold. Ice leaked through his veins, and for a moment, he felt frozen. And he felt every eye in the yard on him. Shock rocked his being. That was the last thing he had expected. And, somehow, at the same time, it was almost as if he had seen it coming. Two Hands, both now dead, and him sent away on the day of the death of one of ‘em. He couldn’t imagine what he could have done to cause either, but there was some strange connection he wasn’t seeing that his master Tobho had refused to make him aware of.

Yoren was quick to dispose two of the guards of their weapons, his knife at the throat of one of them. Gendry barely heard the exchange, so lost in thought was he. But he resurfaced as all five gold cloaks retreated, promising retribution for Yoren’s actions.

He felt everyone’s eyes still on him, hers most of all, but he tried to ignore them. He couldn’t ignore Yoren when the man finally approached him.

“Queen wants you bad, boy.” Yoren growled at him.

“Why would she want him?” The boy who was not a boy piped up. Gendry didn’t know why her question made him so mad. Why should the Queen want her and not him, if anyone at all?

“Why should she want you? You're nothing but a little gutter rat!" Gendry scowled at her, but she didn’t blanch. Her eyes kept on questioning him, as she bit her bottom lip in thought. He looked away. For some reason, that too was distracting.

"Don't see why no one wants neither o' you," Yoren eyed them both carefully, "but they can't have ya regardless. You ride them two coursers. First sight of a gold cloak, make for the Wall like a dragon's on yer tail. The rest o' us don't mean spit to them."

“You.” The girl blurted out.

Gendry looked from her to Yoren and back.

“He said he was going to take your head.” The girl actually looked worried now, and as Gendry looked over his shoulder, towards where the gold cloaks had retreated, Gendry worried now too.

"Well, as to that," Yoren muttered darkly, "if he can get it off my shoulders, he's welcome to it."

Yoren handed Gendry the reins to both of the large horses, the fastest, healthiest horses available to their traveling group, and stalked off heavily.

“But you can’t-.” Arry started, but Gendry shushed her and handed her the reins to one of the horses, the gray one whose mane matched her eyes. He shook his head at himself. He really needed to stop noticing so much about her.

“He’s on’y doin’ what he figures is right.” Gendry told her.

Her eyes flashed at him. “But he can’t give up.” She argued.

He rounded her horse, keeping ahold of his own reins. “He’s not givin’ up. He’s just not givin’ us up.” He said, as if that settled the matter.

Arry huffed. “We should have killed them all.”

Gendry blinked in surprise at her. “We?”

She glared up at him. “There’s thirty of us, and only five of them. We’d have won.”

Gendry frowned down at her. “That seem clever to ya? More’n half of these men’ve never fought before. And we’ve got plenty of green boys as well. Would you’dve had them fight the well-trained City Watch?” He shot at her.

“I can fight.” She spat at him.

Yoren was gearing the rest of the boys and men up to get headed out. With the appearance of the gold cloaks, he wanted to get a head start on them instead of making them easy prey at the inn.

“Yeah, well, you and I and Yoren and Hot Pie weren’ goin’ to beat ‘em alone.” Gendry argued, throwing in Hot Pie at the end to make his point heard. “We got to get goin’. Let me help hoist you up.” He gestured to her horse.

She rolled her eyes, lifted her leg into the stirrup and swung herself up over the horse. He blinked in surprise at her yet again. Except she’d somehow underestimated the width of the horse and found her left leg catching only air. She began to tumble back towards him. Her small hands looked for purchase to avoid the long fall to the ground by digging into his bare shoulders, but his hands quickly found her waist and hitched her back up easily.

His hands rested there on her hips, as he stared up at her, and she stared down at him. Her mouth was open in a surprised ‘o’ and she looked only a little embarrassed at nearly falling off her horse.

Gendry’s cheeks, however, were burning again. He was beginning to get annoyed that she had this effect on him. He grabbed his hands back as if burned, and she looked at him strangely, her eyes, he was sure, lingering on his hands.

His cheeks still red, and his heartbeat going just that much faster, he hoisted himself nowhere near as expertly as she had onto his own horse but without nearly falling off.

They didn’t say another word but heeded Yoren’s instructions to ride at the front of the queue. Just in case.


	4. A Lady

A/N: Thanks for all the continuing support. I hope you’re all enjoying reading this as much as I’m enjoying writing it. I appreciate all the reviews; they’re what keep me going. This will be one of the last chapters for awhile that follows the book/show so closely, especially in terms of dialogue. Let me know what you think!

* * *

 

Gendry was surprised to see Arry could ride, and well. He managed to keep up with her for most of the journey on the Kingsroad from the inn to their resting place for that night. They barely, however, spoke. He offered her his water skin once, which she took a bit wildly from his hands and did not return.

That, on account of the fact that she’d earlier asked him why the gold cloaks were after him. He’d snapped at her that he didn’t know, but snapped only because he’d remembered her exclamation earlier about why the gold cloaks would be looking for him in the first place. He tried asking her later why she’d thought they’d been after _her_ , but she only made her horse gallop the faster. Despite himself, Gendry had grinned at that.

They’d finally made camp much further up the road and away from it. Gendry was gathering water from the stream they’d camped near so that they might make a stew over the fire. Arry, Lommy and Hot Pie all huddled over the stream scrubbing pots and bowls to eat from.

They were chatting about knights and armor. His interest was piqued, especially by Arry’s authoritative voice on the matter. He didn’t join the conversation until Arry announced – proudly was it? - to the other two that he was an armorer’s apprentice.

Glad to see Arry had, if not forgiven him, at least deigned to talk to him again, Gendry questioned Hot Pie’s belief that armor made a knight until the boy was blinking stupidly at him. Though he didn’t show it, Gendry was happy to see that Arry was shaking her head and grinning their way as Gendry schooled Hot Pie.

Looking at each other bewilderedly, Hot Pie and Lommy wandered off with their now-clean pots. As Gendry filled his buckets with water, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Arry tossed her brush aside and hopped over the stones in the stream toward him.

“Are you still cross or are you going to tell me what the gold cloaks want with you?”

“No idea.” Gendry rolled his eyes in annoyance, wondering if wanting to know was the only reason Arry had put aside her anger at him. She was in for a sore disappointment, if it was.

Gendry bristled when Arry called him a liar. It was bad enough that everyone else in the camp but Yoren was staring at him accusingly, as if he’d brought down the wrath of the kingdom on them, when he’d never done anything but his job.

He turned his back on her to lumber over towards the campfire, the two heavy buckets of water balanced one in each of his hands. “You know, you shouldn’t insult people who’re bigger than you.” There. He hoped that would upset her.

“Then I wouldn’t get to insult anyone.” She murmured behind him, and he could almost picture her frown, the furrow in her brow, the downturn in both corners of her lips. He wanted to chuckle because for some reason that’s what she did to him, but he was irritated now.

“Well, I don’t care what any of ‘em want. No good’s ever come of their questions,” Gendry said it all without thinking. He blinked in surprise at himself as he put one bucket down near the fire, meaning to pour the other into the cauldron first. He hadn’t really meant to tell her any of it, but the questions had been rallying at him in his head, begging for attention and answers from him. Only, he didn’t have any. _Why had both Hands of the King come to talk to him? Why were they both dead now? What did it have to do with him? What did the bloody King or Queen want with him?_ He’d asked himself the same things over and over again and still had no clue.

“What do you mean?” Now her interest was piqued. “Who asked questions before?” She stood closely behind him as he poured the first bucket of water. He almost wished he hadn’t said anything, but it was too late. He knew her well enough by now to know she’d never let it well enough alone. Not unless he barked at her to leave him alone. And, he didn’t want to do that because then she would, and he’d have no one worth talking to then.

Gendry might as well, he thought, at least try to throw her off the questions. “How can someone so small be such a huge pain in my ass?” He hoped she didn’t get angry with him, but he meant it too. It was a conundrum to him that he kept seeking her out throughout the day when she only served to inevitably annoy him.

“Who asked questions?” Arry demanded. The tone in her voice was not, in itself, to be questioned. He looked at her queerly. Why did she seem so used to giving orders and having them followed? He’d never been so addressed by no gutter rat, and he was barely above one himself. _She’s not a gutter rat, though, is she?_ He told himself. No. She was something more, only he didn’t just yet know what.

As Gendry looked at the girl in part-annoyance, part-wonder, he decided he might as well share his tale, short as it was. Arry was the closest thing to a friend he had at this point, and it might help him to talk about it. “The Hand of the King,” he surrendered. “ _Hands_ of the King,” he corrected himself. He didn’t dare look at her, sure she was ready to call him a liar again. Who would believe him, after all? He was naught but a filthy armorer’s apprentice from the belly of King’s Landing.

“Lord Arryn came first, few weeks before _‘e_ died. Then came Lord Stark, few weeks before ‘e died.” Maybe there was no connection to him at all, he thought, suddenly embarrassed. He just knew Arry was going to call him stupid once he finished with his suspicions and stalk off to find someone less stupid to hang around.

But when Gendry turned to pick up both buckets, now empty, Arry was looking up at him with her large gray eyes. “Lord Stark,” she repeated. She looked….sad? Well, the man _had_ just died in front of the whole city. Maybe she’d seen it or… He shook his head. It didn’t matter.

Gendry handed her one bucket. He was suddenly worried that if he walked away from Arry, she would wander off. Giving her the bucket meant she’d follow him back to the stream. Even if it meant a hundred and one more questions from her shiny, pink lips. He blinked at himself and slapped himself internally. His mind kept getting away with him like that, and he needed it to stop.

“See? Asking me questions is bad luck.” He said as he headed back toward the stream, Arry only a few small steps behind. “You’ll probably be dead soon.” Gendry regretted saying that almost the moment he’d said it. He’d only been trying to be clever since he felt almost shamed speaking on the matter at all. He hoped talking to him didn’t get her killed. _But, then again_ …his mind wandered to the gold cloaks. If they came back, all because of him, she might very well end up dead, talking to him or no. He shook the thought away. What good would it do to ponder on that?

Arry refused to give up, though. “What sort of questions, though?” She asked.

“My mum...”

“Who’s your mum?” She shot back immediately.

Now, Gendry really didn’t want to go into it. He contemplated asking her to shut up and go away. If this had still been the first day they’d met…he would’ve. And she would’ve listened. Now though… The truth was he didn’t want her to shut up and go away, and even if he did and told her to, she probably wouldn’t.

He sighed in defeat anyway. “Just…my mum.” He stooped to gather more water. She stood behind him, watching him work. “Worked in a tavern, died when I was little.”

“And who was your father?” Gendry’s brow burrowed. He could have been back in Tobho Mott’s armory being questioned by the Hand himself, that’s how similar the line of questioning was going.

Gendry groaned, the pail of water almost slipping from his grip. He steadied it and turned as he answered. “No idea, could’ve been one of those bloody gold-headed bastards, for all I know.” He placed the first bucket by her feet, his eyes lingering on her legs for only a moment.

Suddenly, Gendry was tired. Of the questioning. Of not knowing why he was being hunted. Of not knowing who his father was. Of not knowing why the girl who was a girl was pretending to be a boy. Of not knowing anything.

“What about you, anyway?” He asked, just a little more sharply than he’d intended to. He took the second empty bucket from her hand. “You thought they were after you.” He looked up into her face for a short moment, both their sets of eyes searching each other’s. He turned finally, so he wasn’t facing her when he revealed her truth to her from his own lips.

He scooped more water up almost delicately, his heart beating faster as he prepared to finally unleash his own questioning on her. “Did you really kill someone or is it just because you’re a girl?” Or both, he thought to himself firmly.

He turned to see her features drop in horror. She glared at him. “I’m not a girl.” She exclaimed, just as he’d known she would.

Gendry picked up both buckets, heavy again now, and trudged away while biting back a laugh. “Yes you are.” He insisted. “You think I’m as stupid as the rest of them?” He turned his head back a few times as he spoke, trying to catch a glimpse of her face as he spoke, but she wasn’t as quick to follow him this time. His ruse to stop her questioning him had worked. For now. He only hoped it didn’t backfire.

“Stupider,” Arry marched behind him, swinging her arms fiercely. “The Night’s Watch doesn’t take girls. Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he conceded, turning from watching her stride towards him to put one of the pails down. “Still a girl,” he challenged her again.

“I am not!” She stood barely a foot away from him, glaring up into his face.

He took a step towards her, so his face was just over hers, the heavy bucket of water still in his right hand. “Yeah?! Well, pull your cock out and take a piss then.” His turn now to glare fiercely at her. She liked calling him a liar when she thought she knew more than him.

Arry took a very small step back, and her lips moved uncertainly as she stared up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t need to take a piss.” Most of the insistence was leaving her tone of voice now.

He had her.

Gendry grinned knowingly, hoping to infuriate her, as he turned to pour the first bucket of water into the pot.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her approach him again, silent now.

Finally. “Lommy and Hot Pie can’t know,” she admitted. “No one can know.”

Now that he had the truth from her, he felt almost sad. He’d thought he would feel better about defeating her, at least in something as small as this. It had been a bit fun too, to play the game, acting as if she was a boy when he knew something about her even she didn’t know he knew. Well, he thought, at least he was still the only one who knew.

He set the empty bucket down next to them and picked the second one up. “They won’t,” he said firmly. “Not from me.” And he meant it. From the moment he found out, hadn’t he been doing just that? Ensuring they wouldn’t.

He began to pour the second pail, glad their standoff was at an end. At least for now. He was sure she’d have more questions later about what it was the gold cloaks wanted him for.

But she wasn’t done. Out of the corner of his eye, yet again, he saw her approach even closer.

“My name’s not Arry.” She murmured. Well, Gendry had known that. He supposed she must have some girl name. Gendry thought he’d keep calling her Arry anyway when they were alone just to annoy her.

But the next words out of her mouth stopped the grin dead on his lips.

“It’s Arya, of House Stark.” Arya of House Stark told him solemnly.

Gendry stopped shaking the rest of the water from the bottom of the pail and very slowly turned to look the girl who was not a boy directly in the eye. He knew shock shaded his own. Hers begged him to…what? Not betray her? Make her trust him? Hadn’t she just?

He had no words, not yet at least. But she had more. “Yoren’s taking me home to Winterfell.” She continued, as Gendry stood up slowly, his mouth opening incredulously as he stared at her.

If he thought he’d been shocked before... He was still processing, but…she…she was a lady then. Right? How did it work? Was there an age you had to be before you were considered a lord or a lady? No, that wasn’t right. Stark. That sounded familiar. _Of course it sounds familiar_ , he yelled at himself internally. He’d known another Stark. Just one. And for only a very short time. Forgetting the part where she was a lady and had been all along, he finally spoke, realization dawning with his words.

“It was your father,” Gendry blinked in disbelief, though it must be true if she was who she said she was. He felt suddenly very sad. She wasn’t just some gutter rat who’d witnessed a grisly death with the rest of King’s Landing at the Sept. She was a little girl who’d seen her father killed. “The Hand…the traitor…” He said all this without thinking, trying to piece everything together and feeling sorry for her the whole time.

No wonder she was so angry all the time. No wonder she cried sometimes when she thought he wasn’t looking. He honestly thought she’d maybe been sad being stuck with the Night’s Watch, what with being a girl and all. No, just days ago, she’d seen her father bloody beheaded for all the kingdom to see. A small wave of anger joined his sadness, as her eyes bored into his.

“He was never a traitor!” She growled at him fiercely, her hand unconsciously going to the hilt of her little sword.

Arry’s admission had brought Gendry’s hands to his knees. He was reeling a bit. He knew _her_ father. A nobleman. A lord. Gendry had met _him_ , and now he was dead. Killed by the same royalty who now hunted him.

“Joffrey is a liar.” Arry added viciously.

 _Joffrey_. The girl was on first name basis with the bloody King. Of course she was. Her father had been the bloody Hand. Gendry began trying to remember every exchange the two of them had ever had, hoping he’d never been too improper, but his mind, still processing all of the truth, wouldn’t let him think back on it.

“You’re a highborn then. You’re a lady.” Gendry nearly stuttered getting the words out.

Arry – _Arya_ looked almost taken aback. “No.” She protested. “I mean, yes…” Uncertainty painted her features now. “My mother was a lady…and my sister, but I wasn’t.” She insisted.

“But…” Why was she arguing with him? It was a matter of fact, not opinion. If Lord Stark, Hand of the King, had been her father, she was a lady. Simple as day. “You were a lord’s daughter, and you lived in a castle,” Gendry tried reasoning with her.

Suddenly he remembered just how improper he’d been. Hadn’t he just demanded to see her “cock”? “Look…all that about cocks…I never should’ve said those…” Gendry felt more uncertain than her now, scared almost. She was a lady, no doubt with knights and…lord brothers? She’d talked about her brothers, but Gendry never could have imagined her brothers would be lords who might come after him with armies for talking about cocks…Bloody hell. The blasted girl had seen _his_ cock.

Worry etched his brow. Could you be put to death for this sort of thing? “And I’ve been pissin’ in front o’ you and everythin’.” Were her lord brothers going to ride out of nowhere and take _his_ head next? Just a few minutes ago, he was laughing at the girl as she’d tried to deny her true sex. Now, he was worried the same girl might command his death. Command. No wonder she was so good at ordering him about. She was a bloody lady.

“I should be callin’ you m’lady.” He suddenly realized out loud, blinking down at her seriously. It made him want to laugh. This dirty, smelly, vicious, hilarious little beast was m’lady after all.

Arry’s eyes darkened. “Do _not_ call me m’lady!” She ordered him. “They’ll all notice then if you do.” A thought occurred to her. “And you better keep on pissing the same way too.”

Gendry bit back a laugh, suddenly, all of his worry dissipating into nothing. Arry might be born of a noble house, but she was still the little gutter rat he’d come to know on the trip so far. Hadn’t she just herself insisted she wasn’t a lady at all? Gendry felt sharply relieved. He hadn’t, after all, it seemed been as worried about following noble propriety as he had been worried her newfound status would be losing him a friend. Now, he just understood her better.

And so he did what the Gendry, who thought Arry was just a little grimy girl pretending to be a boy and a gutter rat, would do. He placed his arm over his belly and gave an exaggerated bow, fighting back a smile. “As m’lady commands.”

Arry groaned furiously and leapt at him. Her small hands found the center of his chest. She pushed him backwards forcefully. He stumbled a little, but inside, he was elated. Her reaction to his reaction was perfect. It told him he was right when he concluded he didn’t have to be so careful around her just because she was…who she was. “Well that was unladylike,” he goaded her further. He had to be sure she was still Arry and not just some Lady Arya Stark he didn’t know.

Gendry hadn’t been prepared for the second attack and fell heavily on his bottom between the pilings of wood collected for the fire. He burst out laughing. Arry kicked him in the side then, but it only made him laugh the louder.

She was striding away now, anger and annoyance in every step. Gendry watched her walk away, still beaming after her.

What made him so happy, he wasn’t sure. Because, as his eyes lingered on the backs of her legs, he came to another realization that took his breath and grin away all at once. She might not be a gutter rat, and she might still be his friend, but there was something Arry…no, Arya…would never be. To him, at least. And that was more than a friend. It wasn’t the fact of that which made his heart sink. Worse than all that was the realization that he _cared_.

* * *

 

Arya found Gendry sitting on a fur under a large tree, at a distance from the rest of the camp. He was polishing his bull’s helm yet again. He looked up as she nearly stomped toward him. She found that the tilt of his lips into a slight grin gave her stomach a soaring feeling that only made her angry.

“How long have you known?” Arya huffed as she plopped down onto her fur. She snatched up the food Gendry had left for her next to her fur and began to wolf it down. A nice, big chunk of bread, some dried meat and half an apple. She froze suddenly. “Did you eat?”

Gendry held up half an apple core and his remaining chunk of bread.

“Good,” she bit at him before resuming her meal.

Gendry chewed on his own last morsel of bread before he answered her first question.

“Just a couple o’ days.” He swallowed down his bread with a swig of ale and handed her the cup.

When Arya took the cup from him, their fingers met briefly, and his eyes lingered on her own. “How?” She asked before taking a swig.

He coughed then, and she studied him over the cup.

“What?” She asked defensively.

His cheeks were turning red.

“I just noticed, is all,” he muttered stubbornly.

Arya narrowed her eyes at him. “Noticed what?”

Gendry’s cheeks turned redder still, and he mumbled something.

“What?” Arya snapped. “Speak up.”

“Youjustlooklikeit.”

Arya scoffed. “No, I don’t. Then everyone would notice.”

Gendry seemed to be refusing to meet her eyes. “I only noticed when you slept.” He said softly.

Arya was completely oblivious. “How can you tell then?” She looked at him innocently.

“I just could.” When was she going to drop it?

“That’s stupid. You’re not actually saying anything.”

“Drop it, Arry.” He muttered quietly.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” She asked instead.

Gendry brow furrowed, as he glanced over at her. “I didn’t want to take your secret.”

She was staring at him now, and suddenly her lips cracked into a grin. He found it softened her usually scowling features immensely, and his stomach flipped at the sight. She was _so_ pretty. How could they not notice that behind the dirt and scars and scratches and bedraggled hair cropped short like a boy’s…she was dazzling. It was useless. As much as he wished he could stop having these inappropriate thoughts, his mind and body wouldn’t stop betraying him.

It wasn’t just that she was a girl, or that she was pretty. It was that he’d never met another girl like her, lady or not. He didn’t know much about ladies, but he knew enough to know she didn’t look or act like one. He wondered if there even _was_ another lady like her, but doubted it. She didn’t act like none of those serving girls or daughters of Tobho Mott’s friends in King’s Landing neither. Yet there she was, the last Hand’s daughter, and somehow _he’d_ been the one to befriend her. Strange that, seeing as how he’d met her father.

It’d been bad enough before he’d known she was a lady, a noble. Then he’d only felt strange about it because she was a bit younger than him, two to three years at most. He hadn’t asked her age yet. Now, he truly had to stop thinking this way.

“How old are you anyway?” Gendry found himself blurting out in spite of himself. It was a harmless enough question, and she wouldn’t take it the way his mind had formed it.

Arry looked up from her meal to him, with a furrowed brow. “Four and ten. Why? How old are you?”

So he’d been right. “Seven and ten,” he told her without telling her why he’d asked.

The girl eyed him carefully for a moment, and he swore her gaze dropped to his bare shoulder down along his arm before she looked in contemplation back down at her bread. For a moment, neither spoke.

“My father,” she started cautiously.

Gendry shushed her, stood and looked around them, including behind and around the trees. There was so much at stake now. Especially if the gold cloaks came back. No one could know. Most of the men were camped further away, among a clearing in the forest of trees. None were close enough to hear.

Gendry dragged his fur closer to the girl’s and sat back down, taking the cup of ale she offered back to him, and looking at her expectantly.

Arry was looking down at her hands now. “My father, what did you speak about other than…” She trailed off. And he knew, without knowing how, what was going through her head. The girl, the lady was wondering if there were any other moments of her father’s life she could capture, moments she hadn’t been with him, as the man sadly had no moments left now. No, Gendry knew how he knew that’s what she was thinking. He often thought it about his own mother. Back when he’d been ten or eleven, there had still been those in Flea’s Bottom who remembered her, and he’d go, starving for stories, to them willing enough to share. He remembered so little about her after all.

Gendry thought back now, for her, on the day the man with the dark hair but kind eyes had come to see him.

When he spoke, he found his voice was slightly hoarse. “I was working when they got there…”

“They?” Arry prompted. She moved closer to Gendry, so their knees were touching now. He was speaking low, just in case anyone came wandering by.

Gendry’s eyes were on the spot where their knees met. He inhaled her scent all woody and, somehow, warm. “There was another man, one of his, not sure ‘oo. He waited outside though.”

“Jory,” Arry breathed in a sad voice. He glanced at her face and hoped she didn’t cry not because he didn’t know what to do if she did, but because he wasn’t sure she’d receive an arm around her shoulders well, didn’t know if it was even appropriate or proper for an armorer’s apprentice from Flea’s Bottom to wind his arm around a girl, a lady, alone for all intents and purposes, in the middle of the forest.

Instead, he just kept speaking. “I figured ‘e was a lord comin’ down after th’ tourney to get a sword mended or somethin’ like that.” Gendry studied his own hands while he spoke, but he could feel Arry’s eyes boring into him, as she scoured his brain for details. “But ‘e started askin’ Master Mott some strange questions. I ony’ heard because I was the apprentice ‘e kept in front with him.”

Arry stirred. “Were you the best then?” She breathed at him. He felt her warm breath on his shoulder and didn’t dare move lest she be further away from him then.

His cheeks grew slightly pink at the question too. He supposed he had been Tobho’s best, but that didn’ make him particularly talented or nothin’. He just enjoyed doing the work whereas the others saw it as a means to an end: food. He told her as such. Arry drew her knees in under her head, and rested her chin on them, wrapping her small arms around her legs. Gendry’s knee missed the warmth hers had provided against it.

“He asked all them questions I told you ‘bout already. And-.” He paused, remembering now some of the details that had slipped by before because they hadn’t mattered when Tobho had told him he’d be leaving for the Wall soon.

“And-.” Arry prompted him, brushing her elbow against this arm.

He’d been lost in thought but now he looked around him for the helmet. “He seemed interested in this.” Gendry passed the helm from one of his hands to the other and stared down at it. “I think he was impressed,” he murmured. “Sorta.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl staring down at the helm. She reached a hand out and took it by one of the horns. He let her. She examined it and looked at him almost shyly, he thought.

“He held it?” Her voice tremored only slightly.

Gendry watched her for a moment, before nodding. The girl brought the helm closer to her, inspecting it as if it were worth mounds of gold, or something more.

“He wanted to buy it off me,” Gendry couldn’t keep the surprise from his tone. He hadn’t known then, and still didn’t know now, why the lord would have wanted to buy it from him. Gendry supposed it must be good work after all.

“What did you say?” Arry murmured almost absentmindedly, but she only had eyes for the helm.

Gendry chuckled, and she looked sharply towards him. Gendry cupped the back of his neck. “Well…” He trailed off and Arry looked at him suspiciously. “I was a bit rude to him.”

Her brow furrowed, and inexplicably the corner of her mouth twitched. “How so?” She looked back to the helm, running her palm over the face of it.

Gendry watched her hand as it worked its way over the one thing he had in life to show for himself. His smile was small, as he said. “I took it back from him. Said it weren’t for sale.”

Arry didn’t ask him why, and he suspected it was because she knew. He’d noticed her noticing him walking around with it everywhere he went, sometimes even when he was just taking a piss, lest another of the men in their group take it when he wasn’t looking.

“But-.” He paused now, wondering what her reaction would be at his next words.

Arry waited patiently for him to speak. She’d stretched her legs out, so their knees were touching again, and had rested the helm in her lap, one hand on it.

“When I told ‘im that…well, ‘e laughed.”

He saw the grin that wound its way across the girl’s face slowly, and was glad he hadn’t left out that small detail.

“He didn’t laugh often.” She said so softly he almost didn’t hear. “Then what?” Impatient again.

“Tobho yelled at me for that, said I should give it to the lord as a gift, but I refused still. Your father was kind about it. Said ‘e wouldn’t have me part with it, if I was that adamant. Then ‘e asked if…”

The girl had only eyes for him now. She drank in his words as thirstily as some men drank wine.

“Well, I woulda done what he asked but what with Tobho makin’ me leave n’ all.” Gendry hesitated. Would she be angry with him somehow if he hadn’t honored her lord father’s one request of him?

Arya’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” She demanded.

“When I said ‘e couldn’ have it, Master Mott offered ta make him one, himself, if he wanted. Said he’d make it in the likeness of a direwolf.” Arya blinked, her cheeks pink. She seemed to like what she was hearing. “The sigil of your house?” It was a question.

She nodded. “And my-.” She paused and her eyes finally left his to look off in the distance of the woods. “I had one as well…once.”

Gendry blinked in surprise at the girl. “A wolf?” She nodded solemnly, her eyes seemingly searching.

Gendry couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well, you would, wouldn’t you?” his chuckled grew a little louder, and he cursed himself inwardly, hoping not to draw attention to them or their conversation.

Arry blinked at him again now. She looked like she wanted to be cross with him, but her lips, pulling towards a grin, were fighting the urge.

“You’re half a little wolf yourself, ain’t ya?” Gendry grinned outright at her now. Knowing what he did about wolves, he thought it was a fitting description. She was small and lean but fierce and ferocious, all at once. Her smile bit and her glare barked.

After a moment, Arry was smiling back, in satisfaction. “I _am_ a wolf,” she agreed.

“What happened to your pet?” Gendry asked now, hoping to somehow cheer her up, but the words were the wrong ones. Gendry wasn’t like one of those lads who seemed to always have the right thing to say, no matter the situation. Eddard Stark, this girl’s fathers, from the little Gendry knew of him, seemed to have been that type of man. Gendry wasn’t so astute.

Arry’s face dropped slightly. “Nymeria,” she almost whispered, looking back out toward the woods. “I was hoping I might be able to find her out here, somehow.” Her voice had the ability just then to sound both completely hopeful and absolutely hopeless at the same time. She started suddenly and looked back at him. “Did you make one?” She asked with resolve. “A direwolf helm.”

Gendry’s lips twisted as he looked away in thought. “I started to,” he told her. “When Master Mott offered to do it ‘imself, your father looked at my helm and at me again. Said he wouldn’ mind if I made it meself, in a similar style.” Gendry’s finger now rested on the helm, not far from her own hand on it.

She was studying him fiercely again.

“I said I would. Asked ‘im for his measurements, but then-.” Gendry paused. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to see her face when he told her. Little could he have known, then, in that hot little forge, that he’d ever meet the person he’d been charged to make the helm for. “Then ‘e said it wasn’t for him.” Gendry’s eyes held hers demandingly as he spoke. “Said it was fer his…well, ‘e said son at first, but then said I might as well know it was for his daughter, so I didn’ make it too big. On’y it was probably better that didn’t get out as her mother didn’t even know she was takin’ fightin’ lessons.”

Arya’s eyes bugged at the confession. She looked away so suddenly then, whipping her head to the right, almost as if looking behind her shoulder. Gendry’s hand on the helm inched forward until it was covering hers. It seemed almost unconsciously that her fingers twitched, two of them rising to rest between two of his own.

“I told him I would.” Gendry kept speaking, hoping none of his words hurt her too much. “Started meltin’ down the metal for it, drawin the shape ‘n all. I ‘ad a small banner, he’d given me from ‘is man, but it got left in the shop, or I’d give that to you too.”

The girl stirred, her head turning back toward his. It was hard to tell in the dying dusk, but he didn’t think she’d cried at all. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to share any of those feelings with him. “Too?” She repeated softly.

“I mean to make that helm.” His voice was definitely hoarse now, and he dare not meet her eyes. “I told your father I would…” How though? He knew he meant every word but when and how? Certainly not on the road, and if she wasn’t meant to go with him all the way to Castle Black… Gendry was surprised at how much the thought of leaving her at the gates of Winterfell while he went on…hurt him. But it weren’t his feelings that mattered now. “When I get to Castle Black,” he promised her. “I’ll explain it all to Yoren. He’ll understand, and I’ll make sure ‘e gets it to you.”

The girl was staring at him. He could feel it, but still he didn’t meet her eyes. Suddenly the two fingers wound above his on the helm, squeezed his own strongly.

Gendry looked at her then. She was staring at him almost fiercely. “Thank you.” She managed. Then she released his grip and turned to lay, facing away from him, on her fur. She kept the bull’s helm close, on the ground near her head.

Gendry sat and watched her for a long while, unsure what to think, unsure even at what he was feeling.

The girl didn’t move and when he had been sure she was already asleep, she spoke again. “Did he say anything else?” Her voice was almost weak, but only almost. “ _Do_ anything else?”

Gendry thought back long and hard on the encounter. There had been one strange moment when he’d been almost frightened because he hadn’t been sure just then what the stranger had wanted from him. The lord had looked at him in the exact same way the last Hand had, as had the other lord who’d come with that Hand, the King’s brother, he’d thought. They’d all looked at him, as if they themselves were almost afraid, as if they were seeing a ghost, someone they’d known who was long past dead.

Gendry tried to explain that all to Arry in the best way he could. Still, even the words aloud made little sense. _Look at me_ , the man had demanded. And Gendry had. But why? Why did he seem to haunt these lords when he was nothing, no one, when all he could do was fold steel and make it sing?

Arry stirred only a little but didn’t question him at all about the encounter.

He was sure she was done, ready to go to sleep, when she spoke yet again. He didn’t mind, though. He’d answer questions about her father all night if he had to, though he had little left to give her.

“What did you think of him?” Her voice seemed so small, turned away from him.

Gendry thought even harder and longer about that one. It wasn’t about not offending her. He didn’t have anything bad to say about the man. He wondered if the girl thought on his words about the lords and ladies of great houses from the day past. He hadn’t meant her father, though maybe her father had been like the rest. No care or thought for the common people. Still, somehow, he doubted it.

Gendry spoke finally. “I can’t imagine that a lord who would have his daughter made a helm instead of a dress, who would give her fightin’ lessons instead of dancin’ lessons…when on’y the opposite would be expected of ‘im…” Gendry thought hard on what he said, knowing the words couldn’t be false. “I can’t imagine that kind of father could be a bad lord or a bad person.”

Gendry heard the girl release a long, slow breath, almost as if relieved.

“I on’y knew him for a little,” Gendry admitted, “but ‘e seemed like a good man, a kind man…even a brave man.”

The girl spoke fiercely again. “He was,” she agreed. “All that and more.”

Arry didn’t speak again on it after that. Not then. He knew she was in a whole other sort of pain and wished he could do something to alleviate it but figured the best he could do right now was leave her be. Gendry began to rise so as to drag the fur a bit away from her, so as not to disturb her. He wasn’t sure she’d taken kindly to finding him so close to her that morning.

Suddenly Arry turned around towards him. “No.” Arry said firmly. Her small hand wrapped around his fur, and she dragged it back towards her, so it was flush with her own. Arry stared up at Gendry, and he stared back. He thought about objecting, thought about telling her it wasn’t right for a lady to lay next to a man like him, but her eyes wouldn’t allow for it. Besides, he comforted himself with the thought that he was staying close anyway so as to protect her. Arry watched as he settled back down onto the fur before turning back around.

Gendry stayed still for a few minutes, staring up at the still bright red star in the sky, thinking. Then, as content as he was going to be in that moment, he turned on his side, to face her and tried to sleep.

He remembered then to drape his cloak over Arry. He was unsure if she was awake or not, but as she didn’t move or make another sound, he figured she was either sleeping already or else would not deny him placing the cloak over her.

The sound of wolves howling in the distance comforted him this time, instead of scaring him, and lulled him to sleep.

In the early hours before dawn, when he woke to take a piss, Gendry was surprised to find Arry had turned in the night to face him. Her right arm had fallen out of the cloak and was was stretched towards him, mere inches from his own. When he came back to lay down, Gendry considered tucking her arm back under the cloak. Instead, he watched her face as she slept.

Arry looked so peaceful in sleep, no trace of the sorrow and fear she’d been at the mercy of the past week. Gendry gazed at her face for a long while, one hand itching to reach out and tuck the hair that fell across her face unevenly. Yoren hadn’t cut the front of her hair as short as the back. Still, it did no disservice to her face. Gendry felt sleep creeping back across his features. Without realizing it, he inched his fingers forward, until they were resting over her small, cold hand. Her fingers flexed as she slept and wrapped around his palm. Gendry fell back to sleep, just as his fingers curled over hers.


End file.
